The Gravedigger
by Chiara Waters
Summary: Post-Reichenbach Fall. So many lives are changed with Sherlock's suicide. Molly has a new & unexpected flatmate, John is grief stricken, and Irene Adler sees a ghost. The most important life change though is Sherlock's.
1. Chapter 1

In a flat in Bristol England sat a man on a red sofa. He has brown hair that reached just above his jaw line, and was very curvy this particular raining morning. He stared out the window. A cup of tea sat in front of him and had sat there for a few hours, it had been there as long as he had. He had his hands in a position as people might describe as a praying position, the tips of his fingers touched gently against his lips. This was the sign that he was thinking very deeply.

A woman with long brown hair looked at him as she washed the dishes. There was a small opening that looked out onto the living room from the kitchen. She was starting to get worried about him. He hadn't moved from that position for hours and the day before that he had barely left the bedroom. She swallowed and put the plate she had just washed back in the soap filled sink. She walked slowly towards him and finally sat down beside him

"Sherlock. Can I get you anything?" She asked

He looked up and turned towards her. Shaking his head and going back to staring out the window. The rain hitting it hard, making the pane of glass look like it was a miniature waterfall. She nodded and got up, about to walk away she suddenly felt his cold hand on her wrist. She turned to him and looked at him with worry in her eyes.

"Molly..." He said as his voice broke. She nodded and sat down again, wrapping her arms around his body as he curled and fell against her. She had always dreamt of this moment. Holding Sherlock Holmes in her arms, having to comfort him. She had dreamt of this moment for a few years now. She took a deep breath and slowly and hesitantly raised her hand and put it on his head.

"It's going to be okay. You know that? After awhile it will all be okay" She said trying to comfort him.

Suddenly he was no longer in her arms but a few feet ahead of her, pacing "I know it will all be okay. Please, Molly. I know these things" his voice hissing slightly at her in that condescending tone she had grown to know too well. She nodded, her meek voice shaking a little "I know Sherlock. I know you do. I didn't mean anything by it..." She trailed off. Another apology probably flying right over Sherlock's head.

Since he had looked at her in the lab at St. Bart's Hospital only a few days earlier and told her that he was probably going to die, he had been different. Even the events that followed, him telling her what she had to do to make it all look real. He wasn't himself as he guided her through everything. He was just... different. Quieter. Especially the last two days. Since they had announced his funeral time. She watched him as he paced, he was dressed in a suit. His normal black suit. His hair looked the same. Anyone who knew him though, would know that something was off about him.

She looked at the messy coffee table in front of the sofa and saw the funeral announcements from the newspaper there. Sherlock had the blessing of seeing his own funeral announcement. Along with all the publicity his death was getting. Molly wanted to tell everyone it was all a lie. That Sherlock was who he had always said he was. That horrible journalist had published her made up story and made the name of Sherlock Holmes into a joke. Molly hated the woman for that.

"Sherlock, What happens now?" Molly finally asked, looking up at the man still pacing in front of her.

He stopped and looked at the wall straight ahead of him, he took awhile to answer "I got to my funeral, and then I lay low"


	2. Hide and Seek

John paced the flat at 221b Baker Street. He was pacing right where Sherlock had paced on several occasions. He stopped directly in front of the couch and then quickly moved to the window. Looking out onto the street.

It was dark, the street lamps on Baker Street were very dim tonight. John couldn't believe the last few weeks and the events that had taken place.

John could barely close his eyes these nights. Whenever he did, all he could see was his friends body on the cement. Sherlock falling to his death.

He still couldn't believe Sherlock had done that. Why had he jumped? It still bugged him whenever he thought about it. Why had Sherlock told all those lies? Told him exactly what Moriarty had told that journalist? It just didn't make sense. It made no sense to him. He thought he had known Sherlock. No! He had known Sherlock! He and Sherlock had been flatmates. Brothers.

John's eyes had glazed over just a little as he had processed all these thoughts, finally his eyes began to focus. Again, he focused out onto the street. This time there was a figure across the street. He knew that figure. John froze as the figure slowly moved his head to look up at the exact window that he, John, was standing at.

John ran. Not bothering to grab his coat. He ran down the stairs and quickly opened the front door and out into the street. The man was gone. John stood in the same place as he had just stood.

John looked down the street to the left and then to the right. Where was he? He had been here only a few seconds ago! John was breathless. He decided to run to the right, down the street. How had he gone? John stopped a few blocks down and closed his eyes. Bringing his hands to his head

"Shit!" John let out rather loudly.

"John?" A female voice asked

John turned around, and there was Molly Hooper with an open umbrella and a few grocery bags.

"Molly?" John asked, knowing who of course was standing in front of him.

Molly smiled and nodded "Why are you breathless and standing in the rain?"

"I thought… I thought I saw…." John stopped mid sentence and shook his head. It was then that reality set in and he realized that it was raining and just how foolish it had been to think he had seen who he had thought he had seen.

"Never mind. How are you Molly? What are you doing here? Don't you live near St. Bart's?" John tried desperately to hid his disappointment. He had wanted to see Sherlock. He had wanted that man across the street to be Sherlock. He had needed it to be him.

"I came to see you John. Are you okay?" She frowned and turned around to follow John's gaze "What are you looking at?"

John nodded and then locked his eyes on hers as she turned back around to him.

He nodded "Yes. I'm… I'm fine. Come on"

John walked beside Molly back to the flat and up the stairs.

Molly put her bags down on the kitchen table and looked at John through the French doors. John sat in the chair. His chair. The chair John always sat in. Sherlock had often sat in the chair opposite John's. The chair across from John was now empty. Molly walked into the study and stopped at Sherlock's chair. Putting a hand on the arm of the chair and slowly he sat down.

"I brought you some food." She said quietly

"Why?" John asked abruptly and looked right at her. Molly shook a little at his tone of voice.

"Mrs. Hudson. She said you hadn't done any shopping. She called me and said she was worried about you." Molly lied

John swallowed "Of course I'm not okay! Sherlock is dead. I watched my best friend fall…" He closed his eyes and watched again, for the millionth time, his friend fall to his death.

Molly too closed her eyes.

"I know John. This hasn't been easy on any of us"

John opened his eyes "No! I don't think you do know!" John was yelling this time.

Molly again shook and this time got up and walked to the door. She was about to leave but then, she turned back.

"He said goodbye to me too. Just before he went to the rood. He said goodbye, in his own way" Molly took another step towards the stairs and again stopped "You're not the only one who cared about him. Who still cares" And with that Molly went down to the street, opening her umbrella and walking down to the exact spot where she had just run into John. There was a car waiting. The car was running and there was a man sitting in the passenger seat.

Molly got in and looked at the man.

"He misses you." She said quietly.

Sherlock continued to look out the front window.

"Did you have to do that? Run from him? He wants to see you." Molly asked desperately wanting the answers to all the questions she had just asked and the ones she would never ask.

"I told you Molly. He can't know. I can't put him in danger. I can't put any of them in danger." Sherlock answered

Molly took a deep breath and put the car in gear. Driving a few blocks away from Baker Street, beginning the journey to her mothers flat. It came in handy now, to have a parent who was away so often. She stopped at a red light and swallowed

"So, it's okay to put me in danger? You don't want to put John, Mrs. Hudson or your brother in danger, but it's okay to put me in danger?" Molly's voice was very quiet, but she knew that Sherlock had heard her.

She wasn't expecting him to answer though.

He still didn't see her. She still didn't matter. She was just a pawn to him. Just someone he could put in danger because he knew that she cared for him.

They drove in silence the rest of the way


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors Note: **First off, I would like to thank everyone! I'm quite surprised my story had gotten so many "Story Alerts" or "Favorites". I would just like to ask though if you're reading, please review. It motivates me to write more :) Here's the next chapter, sorry it's not long.

Molly couldn't sleep. Quietly she got up out of the guest bed, putting on her robe and trying not to make a sound as she walked past the main bedroom where Sherlock was sleeping; she made her way down to the Kitchen.

A few minutes later she sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in her hands as she looked at the collection of newspapers that had been delivered to her mother's flat. There, on every front page was Sherlock's face. Splashed across the headlines were accusations of his falsehood.

She took a sip of her tea and put her hand on the picture of Sherlock's body laying on the street. She wondered briefly just how much money that person got for that picture; it was obvious that it had been taken from a mobile phone.

"It's surprising how quickly one can go from loved to hated in a matter of hours" Sherlock's deep voice said from behind her.

Molly jumped a little and her hand shot to her chest. Trying to calm her heart that began to beat fast.

She watched as Sherlock sat down across from her.

"Does it bother you?" She asked nodding towards the newspapers laying in front of them.

Sherlock was silent for a moment and then he shook his head just every so slightly. "No." He answered with very little emotion in his voice.

Molly looked down and then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Sherlock had not spoken to her since her small outburst, if you could call it that, in the car hours before.

Molly had a million unanswered questions spinning through her mind. The biggest one was who Sherlock feared still. Jim Moriarty, or Richard Brook, was dead. He had shot himself, there was no way that he still could be alive. Molly had performed the autopsy on Moriarty herself. Though, she had also performed Sherlock's as well.

IT was through this, that she had helped Sherlock fake his own death. If Moriarty was really as talented as Sherlock, then, maybe there was a possibility that Jim Moriarty could still be alive.

"Do you remember what I asked you before I went to the roof?" Sherlock's question bringing Molly out of her mind. She took a moment to remember exactly what he was talking about. Slowly, she nodded.

"You count Molly. You are the one I must keep safe. You are someone I trust with this. All this"

Molly swallowed. Everything Sherlock had said that day came flooding back.

He had asked her what she would do if he wasn't everything that she thought he was, everything he thought he was. She had just simply asked what he needed. He had answered with "You."

She looked at him. She couldn't stand seeing him like this. For the first time in years she had known him, he looked human. He looked vulnerable.

"Sherlock." She said quietly, and he looked at her. Their eyes locking, they looked at each other for a few moments before she continued "Can I get you some tea?"

He looked at her "No thank you." He answered and she nodded and then took a sip of her tea.

"A coffee though."

She looked up and smiled just a little. Nodding and getting up, walking to the stove and putting on the coffee.

As she busied herself with making his coffee, Sherlock watched her.

"Sherlock, why me? Why did you not trust John with this?" Both her hands on the cold counter, her back to him.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment

"I needed him to believe everything. All the stories. My death. He needed to believe so he could be safe."

She closed her eyes. It still stung. He may have trusted her with this secret, needing her to make it all look real, but she still didn't count as much as John did.

She would never matter to Sherlock Holmes as John Watson mattered to Sherlock. She nodded and took the kettle off the stove top and poured the boiling water through the coffee and filter. She walked with the coffee cup to Sherlock and put it down in front of him.

She crossed her arms against her chest, still standing there.

"Goodnight Sherlock." and with that she walked to her bedroom.

Sherlock sat at the table. Alone. The coffee smell rising to his nostrils and stinging with his potent smell.

_Columbian. Dark._

Molly always made good dark coffee. He had noticed that she usually made hers slightly weaker than she made his. He noticed this a few days earlier. One of the first mornings they spent together after his death.

He got up and quickly followed her.

For a moment he stood outside her door. The light was streaming under her bedroom door. She was still up. He stood straight, a black nightgown hanging loosely off his shoulders and the pajama pants he had asked Molly to buy for him matched with a simple black shirt.

He walked the step to her door and opened it.

"Molly."

She gave a yelp and held the covers up against her chest. She wasn't naked, that was quite clear to Sherlock, and he was slightly baffled by why she was trying to cover herself up.

"Yes?" She asked in her meek little voice

He swallowed. Standing there, not quite sure what he was going to do or say. This rarely happened to him.

"You make my coffee darker than you make yours." He pointed out

She looked at him, her eyes wondering across his body, trying to figure out what he might be up to. She nodded slowly.

"Why?" He asked

She sat straight in the bed, the cover falling to reveal a old white shirt.

"Because that's how you like it."

"How do you know that?"

She smiled, shaking her head just ever so slightly "You're not the only one who notices things about someone."

"Why for me? You don't do it for anyone else."

She looked down at her lap "We all do crazy things, don't we?"

_The lab. Examining the mobile phone. "We all do crazy things." _

His posture went straight, almost immediately and he took a breath in. A small smile coming to his lips.

"We do."

They both stayed perfectly still. Molly wondering why Sherlock was just standing there and Sherlock was a little unsure of what he should do.

"Goodnight Molly." He said finally, before turning and leaving the room. Closing the door.

"Goodnight Sherlock." She replied just as he closed the door.

Sherlock stood outside the door for a moment and then walked the few feet to his bedroom.


	4. The Funeral part 1

Mrs. Hudson sat at her kitchen table, she leaned against the back of her chair and sighed. She had cried the moment she heard the news. She felt like she had been crying for days. Today she couldn't summon up a single tear. She knew, sadly though, that she would have plenty of tears when she and John reached the cemetery.

She put her cup of tea down on the table and got up, walking to the stairs outside of her flat and looking up before walking up the few flights of stairs till she was standing outside of Sherlock and John's flat.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. There it was. It looked almost empty now, nobody had been living here for a few days and already it looked so empty.

John had left quite abruptly yesterday. One minute she could hear him pacing back and then ext he was telling her that he would see her in a few days and that he was staying at his sisters.

Mrs. Hudson stepped into the kitchen and saw all the laboratory equipment still on the counter, the way Sherlock had left it. She didn't know if she should pack it all up. Maybe she would give it away to School's.

She had a friend from School who's daughter was a Primary School Teacher, she would possibly be in need of equipment like this.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Came a voice from downstairs.

She was startled for a moment and then walked to the top of the stairs, closing the door to Sherlock's flat and fixing her sweater before walking down the first flight of stairs.

"John." She said with a small smile as she walked down the stairs and there John Watson was standing like he always did. Like an ex-soldier.

"Are you ready?" He asked.

She noticed he was trying to hide the emotions, it didn't take Sherlock to figure out things. She w as a senior woman, she had quite a bit of experience with men under her belt to know when they were trying to hide emotions. She would respect that and not point it out.

"Yes. Just need to grab my coat. I'll meet you in the cab, dear" She answered as she opened the door to her own flat and grabbing the coat that went with the outfit she was wearing.

A moment later she was sitting in a black cab with John, and they were starting their journey to the cemetery.

The ride was quiet except with a bit of conversation about the flat and Sherlock's belongings. There weren't many cars parked, but there were people getting out of cars and walking to the grave sight.

She looked at John and gave him a small smile before getting out of the cab.

She turned and watched the cars empty. John was already walking to the sight. There was one car though, it was idling a few metres away from everyone else. She couldn't see faces, her eyesight wasn't as good as it had been when she was younger. She watched though as a man got out and walked away from the car.

She took a deep breath. That figure was somehow familiar. A small smile appeared on her face, and she began walking to where John had stopped and waited for her. Together they walked to the grave.

Mrs. Hudson looked around at the few people around the open grave, and casket.

She watched as Molly Hooper was the last person to join the very tiny crowd. Mrs. Hudson began to cry soft tears. Not many, just small tears.

John Watson sat up in the guest bed. He could hear Clara moving about in the hall. He closed his eyes. Today was the day. The funeral.

A knock at the bedroom door made his eyes shoot open.

"John?" Clara's voice asked from outside the door, the door opened and Clara entered. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Harry just asked if you were up and then reminded me that you had to get going soon."

John forced a smile and nodded "Yeah, no, you didn't wake me." He nodded again "I'll be right out"

Clara gave him a small smile and then closed the door.

John threw the covers off and stepped onto the warm floor. He walked to the table where his suitcase was and began dressing. He was refusing to wear all black. Stepping out of the tradition of black for mourning. Sherlock would appreciate that.

He walked to the kitchen where Harry and Clara sat, both turning to look at him with sympathetic smiles on their faces.

_How long is that going to last?_ He wondered. When would people start treating him like normal again?

"Coffee?" He asked nodding towards the coffee pot on the table.

Harry nodded and gave a small smile, one that wasn't as sympathetic as her previous one, she knew a little bit about her brother and she also knew that her brother wouldn't appreciate the apologetic smiles. She had told Clara that when John had asked to stay a few nights, but both found it difficult to hide such smiles. Neither one of them knew it was like to see someone they were incredibly close to, jump to their death.

"Is that what you're wearing?" Harry asked her brother

He turned and looked at her, the freshly poured coffee in a mug in his hand. He just stared at her.

"Yes." He answered curtly and took a sip of his coffee before putting it down on the counter "I don't know how late I'll be. Don't wait up"

He grabbed his coat and walked out of the door. He wished he could go to Baker Street. He wished Sherlock was still alive. Since the run in with Molly on the street and seeing the figure outside of the flat, he couldn't bring himself to go back into that flat.

He couldn't bring himself to look out that window and maybe see the figure again. Watching the flat. There were only two people who would do something so creepy- Jim Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes. Both were dead.

He took a deep breath as he hailed a cab and finally got into one and he felt a sigh of relief as it carried him away from his sisters house. He was going to find another place to stay. He needed to find another place to stay. HIs sisters house was too hostile, too sympathetic.

It felt like a few short minutes and the cab was outside of 221b. He got out and told the driver he would be right back. Opening the door, he stopped, wanting to just wait outside.

"Mrs. Hudson?" He called as he finally took a few steps into the building. He heard the door close upstairs and he closed his eyes. She was in the flat. What was she doing? Was she packing things up? Getting rid of Sherlock?

"John." Mrs. Hudson said smiling as she began walking back down the stairs.

"Are you ready?" He asked. If Sherlock was here, he would have told John off because of that rude tone of voice had just used on Mrs. Hudson.

"Yes. Just need to grab my coat. I'll met you in the cab, dear"

He nodded and then he turned around and walked back to the cab and got in. He shouldn't have talked to her like that. He took a deep breath and watched the door of Baker Street for Mrs. Hudson. Soon, she was in the cab and they were driving to the cemetery.

Mrs. Hudson kept talking about the flat

"I can't go back there. Not for awhile at least" He answered all of her questions.

As soon as they were there, John got out and began walking to the grave. He soon noticed Mrs. Hudson wasn't with him and he stopped and turned around, waiting for her. She deserved his respect. She needed it. He loved her.

Together they walked to the grave


	5. The Funeral Molly Hooper

Molly rolled over in her bed and looked at the digital alarm clock on the bed side table. She closed her eyes. What was today? It only took a few moments before she remembered that it was Sherlock's funeral. It felt weird that she had to attend. She had to hold up appearances. Nobody could know that Sherlock was still alive and so, she had to attend. She had thought briefly about arguing with Sherlock about this whole thing, about her going, saying that she would just tell John she couldn't go. She didn't want to go, she didn't want to believe Sherlock was gone. But, like every other time in her and Sherlock's somewhat friendship, she had kept her mouth shut and was going to do exactly what Sherlock told her to do.

She opened her eyes and looked at the alarm clock. She needed to get in the mindset for this funeral. She needed to be sad, for appearances. For Sherlock's safety. She knew exactly what her mother would say if she knew about this. Her mother would say exactly what Molly wasn't willing to even think. That, like every other time in her life that she liked someone, she was letting them walk all over her and use her to get what they wanted. Even though it meant her life might be in danger. She sat up and was about to throw the covers off of herself, brave the cold air that was threatening from the rain that was falling outside of her window, when there was a knock at the door and suddenly it was being pushed open. There stood Sherlock Holmes. The man was dressed in his normal black suit with a white shirt under that was just a tad bit too small. She sometimes wondered that, was it because he just didn't care, or was it because he didn't know how to shop for clothing that fit. She wasn't going to ask him though. She took a breath and looked at him "Good morning Sherlock" She said with a small smile, as she pulled the covers over her bare legs again. He stood there and watched her for a moment and then smiled at her just a little. "Good morning Molly. You should be getting ready for my funeral. It's in an hour and a half." He replied to her. She smiled. "I was just about to get ready." She said with a small annoyed voice and then waited for him to say something or leave, when he didn't though "Can you close the door? And, if you're bothered, make me a cup of coffee please? I take…"

"a teaspoon of milk and two teaspoons of sugar. You like your coffee not too dark but not too weak" He replied. She swallowed and starred at him for a moment, disbelief. She knew that he paid attention to her, he had always pointed out certain things in her life. When she dated Jim and he noticed she had gained 3 pounds, when she had put on lipstick to ask him out, or when she had parted her hair on another side which she knew he used just to get her to do what he wanted her to do. He nodded "I will have a coffee ready for you when you are ready" and with that he closed the door. She sat there for a moment. He was being too nice. What was he going to need from her next? She didn't want to know.

Molly quickly dressed in a plain black dress, nothing like the thing she had worn to get Sherlock's attention at Christmas time last year, just a plain black dress with a white cardigan. She slipped on a pair of ballet flats and walked to the Kitchen. There sat Sherlock, a cup of coffee in front of him, and one on her side of the table. She looked at him, watching him. He seemed happy, almost cheerful. Even with him just sitting there, there was something different about him. She sat down across from him and took a sip of her coffee. It was exactly like how she made hers. She let out a small sigh and smiled to herself. "You should drink up, we need to stop somewhere quickly before we go to the cemetery" Sherlock broke the silence. She looked up "You're coming with me?" She asked

He nodded, sat up straighter, and then did that thing with his hands "Of course."

She took a deep breath and thought about it for a moment. They were going together? She was supposed to pretend to be sad about the death of her crush, when he was going to be with her? Was he planning on sitting in the car while the burial took place or was he thinking about just standing with her beside the grave? Showing everyone that he was still alive?

He didn't say anything until they were in the car and driving in the little rain. He was directing her, somewhere, she didn't quite know where they were going, but they weren't going to the cemetery.

"Stop here." He said suddenly. She slammed on her breaks and turned to look where Sherlock was looking. "A flowers shop?" She asked

He nodded "You have to show up with some sort of bouquet. That's what people do when they attend a burial of someone they loved right?"

She took a deep breath and here eyes sprung open? "Love? I don't..."

"Yes. Here's twenty quid, go and buy a bouquet." He handed her a twenty pound bill.

She shook her head and walked into the flower shop, coming out soon after with a bouquet she thought she would have bought if she really was attending the burial of Sherlock. She didn't quite know what he meant about the love part. She didn't love him.

When she got into the car, he told her to go to the cemetery. They drove in silence. When she drove through the gates she looked around, there was a black cab ahead of them.

"Drive slower." He commanded. She obeyed. Just like the Flower Shop, suddenly, as they were about to get to the little loop where she was to park he told her to stop. "I'll be watching." She was about to argue with him when he got out of the car and walked away, his coat collar up. She shook her head and drove the few feet where the other cars were. Parking, she got out of the car and followed Mrs. Hudson and John to the grave site.

The flower bouquet in her hand. She put on a face of sadness. She would keep Sherlock safe


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors Note: I am sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. I also apologize that it's so short. I was actually very terrified about getting the character of Sherlock right. I don't want to disappoint. Hope you all enjoy it!**

Sherlock stood watch as his friends, the people who he cared about, the people he was trying to keep safe stood around his grave. He hadn't realized just how cold it was out until now as a gust of wind blew past him, it hadn't been windy until just now. He shivered ever so slightly and pulled his coat closer to him and buttoned it. Popping up the collars to keep his neck (even though it was covered by a scarf) warm.

He watched them. Mrs. Hudson, as she cried into her handkerchief. Molly, pretending to be sad. He was quite surprised how well she was doing considering her situation. Mycroft, stood back behind everyone. Keeping to himself, leaning against his umbrella. Lestrade, stood beside Molly and casually brought his arm around her. A gesture of comfort, or more? Sherlock remembered that look on Lestrade's face on Christmas evening, when Molly had come to deliver her gift to Sherlock, in _that dress._ Then, there was John. John stood there, stoic, and like the army doctor Sherlock had been introduced three years earlier.

Sherlock missed John. The friendship that Sherlock had gotten accustomed to, had become proof again that caring and love was just a disadvantage. That's all that had been proven to Sherlock since the rooftop with Moriarty. He hadn't been expecting Moriarty to drag his friends and brother into what had been going on between the two; but Moriarty had surprised Sherlock and had known the weakness of Sherlock. He cared.

"Caring is not an advantage" He remembered his brothers words.

It was nothing more than a disadvantage. It had been the end of Irene Adler, before he rescued her, and it had been the end of Sherlock Holmes, as everyone knew him.

As people began leaving the grave, leaving only Mrs. Hudson and John he watched. Not paying attention to the fact that Lestrade and Molly walked off together, or that he should probably go and leave with Molly, he was too captivated by John and Mrs. Hudson. Soon, Mrs. Hudson began walking away and it was only John. Sherlock took a step or two towards John, still hidden by a few trees and graves, and not near enough to hear what he was saying, but he watched trying to get what John might be saying to his grave. He had never understood that concept. Talking to graves, as if the people were right there listening to everything their beloved's were saying to their buried bodies.

John looked behind him to see how far away Mrs. Hudson was and then he began speaking. Sherlock couldn't hear him but he knew that he was saying something emotional. Sherlock had never seen John sad. He had seen him angry, when Sherlock did something to make him so, and he had seen John try and hide emotion, but Sherlock had never seen John cry. Sherlock frowned, his forehead wrinkling as he watched John. Sherlock held back the need to go and hear John, to hear everything he was saying. He watched as John touched his gravestone and for a moment Sherlock closed his eyes. John, oh how his heart went to John. He wished he could let John know he was alive, to make him okay.

Soon John was walking away from his grave and Sherlock stood perfectly still. Just watching his only friend march through the cemetery. Sherlock watched him, his gaze slowly turning back to the grave site in which his friend had just come from. His gaze faltered for a moment and then he turned around and watched as John got into a black cab and drove away. Sherlock took a breath and put his hands in his jacket pockets. He missed John.

"Sherlock, are you coming?" He heard Molly's voice a few feet away from him

Sherlock nodded and walked to the car, getting in and not saying anything but "Go."


End file.
